


Lust for Love

by FantasylandwithZee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 17:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18815758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasylandwithZee/pseuds/FantasylandwithZee





	Lust for Love

**Snow angels**

  
It's one of those days when it's supposed to be warm and sunny, but instead the clouds hold on for as long as they can, and the ferocious ocean makes the breeze that much more chilly. The sun towers above the skyscrapers like royalty, and every once in a while, a jealous pile of cotton drones out its light and all around us there are sighs of exasperation, or groans and complaints about the internet being wrong about the weather.

_I sit on one those ugly benches that are half cracking and shamelessly boldened with graffiti, taking in a deep breath and closing my eyes. Sometimes it's nice to not know who passes by you, what breed the dog that sniffs you is or what colour shirt the old man with a slow walk has. Sometimes it's easier and more fun to imagine. Maybe a clown just passed by you or it was wolf instead of a dog, or that man wasn't actually a man but a woman, kind of tomoboyish but still wearing that chipped pink nail polish that she's had for ages now._

Sunsets are beautiful wherever they are. The orange glow stroked with hues of red and yellow and light pink is just as breathtaking in the city, as they are on top of a hill or near the ocean. The colours still find a way to appeal to you senses, and sometimes when you have your eyes closed, Zayn can swear he feels the colours rather than just see them. Honestly, that's what he mostly does. He only knows that there are likes like red and orange because people tell him it. He only knows it's beautiful because someone gorgeous told him that it is.

For Zayn, there's only black and white but if he reaches his fingertips towards the sky, if he tries hard enough to _see_ he can actually find all the right shades. When he paints, he paints like that: with colours that Harry tells him about, and this weird reach for magic that he does. It helps. He dips the brush in a whole load of green paint and colours the grass. Sometimes he finds dark green, that in his vision is just another shade of light black or what they tend to call, grey. But that's also the green that he used before, and the maroon that he had used for the roof tiles, and that's also the same colour of Harry's eyes and his curls and his heart-shaped lips.

"So...yellow is basically a warm colour. It stands out quite a lot, and it's bright and can be a lighter shade sometimes too. We tend to associate it with the sun so often when we think about the colour yellow, what comes into mind is light and tenderness and just...beauty. And warmth like I told you before."

That's Harry's way of making Zayn see the colours, but he doesn't understand Zayn still cannot grasp it and he still is colourblind the same as he was three minutes ago. However, Zayn lets Harry go on and on about it because there's just something so charismatic about the way Harry speaks. Slow, careful, tender. Exactly like yellow.

_Harry says he blushes a lot, that the magenta and the red mix together and he looks like a tomato. I disagree. I can't see the colour of his cheeks when he blushes, but I see the light flutter of his lashes and the nervous entanglement of his fingers, his feet shift from the ground to on top of the other. He often looks down, smiles softly like baby pink or sky blue, and I have to stop myself from uttering incoherent thoughts of awe aloud._

When Zayn opens his palm and places it against the air, somewhere in the middle of the sky and the ground, a fluffy sensation runs down the length of his wrist and his arms, straight to his heart. He's always loved snow: cool and soft to the touch, but when let to fend for itself it was all hard, made paths anywhere it landed like forcing obstacles out of its way. This is white. This is his colour.

A beaming smile stretches upon his face and he can't help but think that if Harry was here right now, he'd make Zayn run around and catch every snowflake. He'd watch for days, the snow accumulating then he'd drag him outside and force him to make snow angels with him.

_Then we'd go inside and he'd have that slightly darker shade at the tip of his nose, and his thin lips would be quivering in cold but his smile would sing me thousand joyous melodies. We'd make hot chocolate, cuddle on the couch with two blankets and his favourite star pillow. I'd read him love from different pages on an unfinished script, and he'd mark them with his fingertips and leave little marks on_ _those_ _spots where he would_ _hold_ _on to too tight and too long, deep in_ _thought_ _._

He remembers how the first time they had made love, the walls had just started to glow with Harry's favourite colour, pastel mint green. He said his eyes are green too, but for Zayn they're black with little silver scintillas that remind him of stars. The lamp was burning brighter and the curtains were darker than he'd ever seen. Harry was sparkling. His whole body. It was somewhere between an extremely light grey and a white that was still developing. Zayn remembers Harry's black nails and the ring around one of his fingers, had said something about it meaning more than just the only remnant his father left him. When Zayn asked what else, Harry had simply kissed him. And kissed him and did it until all Zayn had in his mouth was Harry's taste and the way Harry's moans had reverberated through the pane of his tongue and the inside of his cheek.

Zayn hasn't seen that face in so long that he might as well just be imagining a distant curly boy, eyes wide and hurried steps across the street. He closes his eyes again, just to feel the wind against the cold tip of his nose again. One last time and then he needs to head back home because he has to finish marking the essays of students too bright for their own good. It was hard to get that job, but Zayn was so damn passionate about teaching and learning and passing on knowledge that he had learned as a child, that he kept insisting for a chance. It's been two years since he started the job and it's been going greater than he's ever expected.

"Zayn!"

Zayn almost snaps open his eyes, his heart stilling in his chest for a moment before starting again. He's being engulfed in the tightest hug, left to feel the gentle kisses on his temple and his jaw. This can't really be happening to him can it? His arm is still outstretched, snowflakes melting away from the body heat, but his fingers twitch in that way that only he knows how to describe, and he's so close to tears. There is a hand grabbing his, pulling it back into their meeting thighs while their fingers interlock. "I missed you so much!" That husky voice, that familiar tightness in Zayn's chest.

"What are you doing here?" He probably should have reciprocated Harry's words, probably should have said something different but he's just so confused. After two years. He's feeling this after two years, and it may not seem like a long time but when you love someone as deeply as Zayn loved (still does) Harry, even a day without him becomes close to Hell. Because Zayn had learnt to love, he was new at this thing and Harry promised that he would let Zayn practise loving more than that, deeper, greater, but then he left and Zayn didn't get to try it on again.

It was like someone making you see the stars and then suddenly veil the whole sky, so you couldn't see even the slightest hint of light anywhere ever again.

"I'm sorry Zayn, but I had to leave. I tried to contact you but it became so impossible after a while that I just gave up." _Gave up trying? Gave up loving me?_ Zayn thinks, because they're really two different things. You could try to maintain something without loving it, and you could keep trying to love or you could love but didn't keep trying and that's okay. As long as it means that Harry still loves him, Zayn is fine with whatever.

"It's okay.  Why are you here though?"

"For you."

_The first time I said I love you to him was on a day exactly like this._ _It was_ _just_ _starting to drizzle_ _and_ _he was nowhere to be seen. He_ _wasn't_ _on my bed and the pillow_ _wasn't_ _creased like_ _it_ _always is in the mornings. I had checked the bathroom and the kitchen, the other two bedrooms but there was no sign of him. Maybe my bandaged_ _heart_ _thought that it was bleeding again and I panicked. Harry had shot me down_ _and_ _now_ _I_ _was bleeding again like all those_ _months_ _ago and it just_ _wasn't_ _fair._

_When_ _I_ _called_ _him_ _he_ _didn't_ _attend and_ _I_ _later noticed his phone was still under his pillow. It was supposed to reassure me but by then even my own house_ _didn't_ _look_ _any_ _less than a_ _giant_ _maze, and God_ _knew_ _I_ _was_ _having_ _a hard time_ _finding_ _my way around. I remember crying, just silently with_ _the_ _tears streaming down my_ _cheeks_ _and my_ _eyes_ _red. And I watched myself pathetically falling for_ _this_ _boy that had just left me alone in the middle of the night, threw my phone at the mirror and it shattered_ _into_ _pieces_ _right in_ _front_ _of my feet._

_Then suddenly, as evening rolled in, the doorbell rang. I let it but then_ _it_ _did again so I huffed and opened the door,_ _only_ _to be met by his flawless figure_ _. He was smiling and I_ _remember_ _battling_ _with_ _different_ _emotions, pulling him in close to me and muttering it, in that silent dark house_ _with_ _the_ _door_ _still_ _open_ _behind us,_ I love you.

* * *

**Rainbow mess**

Zayn watches Harry as the latter softly presses his fingers to the leather couch, then carefully sits down in it as if he's trying to feel everything again. His eyes don't meet Zayn's for the longest time, maybe out of shame or guilt or whatever else he's been hiding from Zayn these two past years. Zayn almost doesn't want to know why he left. In fact, he's sure he's fine with this mystery forever so he never asks Harry about the whats and the whys.

He tries to act normal. Harry does too.

It's when they reach Zayn's room that Harry chuckles and shakes his head, almost like he's reminiscing days before but Zayn doesn't get the humour. His room is plain and miserable.

"You're still such a mess." Harry breathes out a sweet laughter. And Zayn watches as Harry doesn't wait for any kind of permission, picking up his shirts from off the floor and folding them, placing them in the closet where they're supposed to be, just like two years ago. Zayn swears in those breathless minutes that these two years never happened. Harry does it all effortlessly, with no awkwardness, just simple habitual practise and true fond.

He looks beautiful. Maybe even more than before even though appearance-wise Harry really hasn't changed much. Zayn has never wished more than today that he could see exactly what hue Harry's eyes are, how they look, if they're just as stunning in green as they are in Zayn's silver version. He walks over to where Harry's fluffing his pillows, holds his hand and traces the shape of his knuckles. Tiny half-moons.

Harry's clearly not sure about the touch, the lack of eye contact but there's a persistent tingle that rushes through his bloodstream, makes him want to just kiss the tension away. Zayn's just there looking so damn gorgeous, and all those fuzzy cotton moments they had spent together just come running back into his mind. He chews on his bottom lip when Zayn takes his other hand too, stepping closer before he finally looks at Harry and steals a breath. And Harry thinks Zayn's about to say something, to maybe tell him about the longing and the madness, maybe ask him why but the words never come. Instead, Zayn's lips find his, Harry's hands locked back as he tries to keep up with Zayn's desperate kiss.

Zayn breaks away just to serenade Harry's nervous self, to observe the slight curl of those lips and the pokable dimples that are starting to appear. "What colour are your lips?" _Are_ _they_ _as glittery as_ _they_ _appear to me? Are_ _they_ _a_ _beautiful_ _shade of pink, your favourite_ _colour_ _? Are they light or dark, because for me_ _they're_ _just_ _perfect_ _._

"I don't know. Haven't looked at myself in ages." Zayn frowns, strokes Harry's cheek and the latter closes his eyes in bliss. Zayn smiles at the way Harry seems to still have the same response to Zayn's touch, as he had years ago.

"Why not?"

Harry shrugs, looks away. "Just didn't feel pretty enough." He shifts his gaze back to Zayn. "I didn't have you to remind me of what I have."

_"Zayn,_ _you're_ _not helping!" Harry whined from_ _where_ _he_ _stood in_ _front_ _of the closet. I finally put my phone down and walked over to him, sighing because this_ _wasn't_ _anything new._

_"I am_ _helping_ _. I told you that suit would look so good on you." I stood_ _behind_ _him, pressing my hands_ _firmly_ _over_ _his_ _shoulders_ _. He sagged_ _back_ _into_ _them._

_"No. You_ _said_ _I look good in_ _everything_ _._ _It's_ _different."_

_Harry always had a thing for not_ _accepting_ _compliments from me. He_ _didn't_ _accept compliments from anyone, but at least had the decency to thank them or make it_ _look_ _like he believed it. However, behind closed doors with me right_ _there_ _he_ _wouldn't_ _stop_ _complaining_ _about_ _his appearance. It was almost ridiculous because he was just so damn perfect the_ _way_ _he was._ _There_ _were people after him, ready to fall at their knees for him._

_"_ _That's_ _not a lie. You could be_ _wearing_ _a potato_ _shirt_ _with minion jeans and horrible_ _Disney_ _shoes and still look good."_

_Harry_ _simply_ _pushed_ _me away and slammed the closet shut, before falling face-first on_ _the_ _bed. "Shut up Zayn! At least Louis knows how to call me ugly. 'Cause_ _that's_ _what I am."_

_And maybe_ _I_ _had a clue before, but it was this_ _moment_ _I think that made me wonder if Harry had severe self-esteem issues, even though I saw no reason for it. Why would he_ _think_ _so low of himself? He was one of the most_ _beautiful_ _people I ever had the pleasure to meet._

"You're beautiful." Zayn speaks, the walls glowing and his heart fluttering in his chest, because yes, Harry still is the most beautiful person Zayn has ever seen. Harry chuckles sadly, sits down on the bed with a soft thud and Zayn kneels down in front of him, lifting his hanging face up again. "If only you had stayed I'd show you everyday. I'm still willing to."

_I walked_ _over_ _to him, rubbing his back up and down_ _just_ _to_ _watch him burst at the seams, the walls breaking and_ _his_ _bleeding heart peeking_ _through_ _. "Just stop. I_ _don't_ _want you to tell me anything. You only say_ _that_ _because you care for me. You_ _wouldn't_ _do it_ _otherwise_ _."_

_I lied down next to him then, looking at that watery greyish colour of his eyes_ _and_ _brushing_ _his_ _curls away from his face. He_ _didn't_ _know_ _I_ _had scribbled so many pages with the ink of his tattooes, marked my flesh so many times with the sparkling white tint of his cheeks. He_ _didn't_ _know that when he smiled at me, I tucked those_ _mischiveous_ _dimples_ _in_ _one_ _special corner of my heart, and that when he looked_ _at_ _me, I had never desired to drown in him more_ _than_ _this moment._

_"_ _You're_ _beautiful_ _, Haz. Your eyes are little scintillas, where the sparkling blush of your cheeks is the same_ _colour_ _as_ _the_ _light that resides in it. Do you really think nobody notices_ _how_ _when you smile, your_ _dimples_ _accentuate the glow of your skin, and when you cry it makes people want to capture each and_ _every_ _tear in a jar? Do you realise that they would give up their whole world just to have a glimpse of you? Because_ _I'm_ _one of those many, so gone for you._ _You're_ _beautiful_ _and just_ _because_ _some_ _unfortunate_ _creature_ _couldn't_ _see that, it doesn't change this_ _truth_ _."_

Just because Zayn doesn't know how green looks which is the colour of Harry's eyes, and just because he doesn't know that Harry's lips are a deep shade of magenta, and doesn't know what colour shirt Harry's wearing, it doesn't mean that Harry is any less endearing. Zayn can still see Harry's smile, one that has left him breathless so many times. He can still see the honesty and the twinkles in his eyes, something that elicited a gasp everytime they made love, and he can still feel the irresistible softness of his skin.

"Please do." Harry responds quietly.

* * *

**Nicotine** **kisses**

Harry starts his tale as soon as Zayn places those fingertips on his thighs. It burns, it digs holes into his jeans he swears, but the heat is what he's been craving these last 29 months and seven days. He didn't have the time to count the minutes but he's sure it was a lot.

Zayn doesn't know why Harry begins this weird, stuttering prose of the past but with every word he plants a kiss on Harry's skin,  hoping one day it'll bloom. Bloom on his cheeks and his jaw, on his temple and his knuckles.

_It all began on a dreary midsummer night when the world had suddenly gotten quieter. It wasn’t comfortable like most times, and Zayn not being there was like a disruption in Harry's universe. Zayn wasn’t even far, he was just in the bathroom having a shower but it still was unusual. Normally, he'd lay with Harry until the latter finally got up and dragged Zayn along. Harry felt so out of place, but he couldn’t pinpoint where this discomfort was coming from._

 

Zayn hums along the phrases, temporarily breaking off the string of letters when he kisses Harry's sweet lips. They taste like hardships and cotton candy, like helpless lies and honey. 

 

_The shrill buzz of his phone quaked the_ _whole_ _room, and_ _Harry_ _suddenly had this horrible feeling in his gut of_ _something_ _piercingly terrible. The window was_ _open_ _but Harry swore they had closed it_ _before_ _they went to sleep. The walls were dripping_ _with_ _tears,_ _his_ _heart was seizing movement. And then it buzzed again, so he finally answered it shakily. Hell-_

 

"You don't want to tell me this." Zayn affirms in the dead quiet of the room, where the only sound is Harry's laboured breathing, and Zayn's hand's swooshing movement on Harry's arm.

 

"But-" Harry is going to retaliate, say Zayn deserves to know why he's been missing the entirety of these 29 months and seven days, around billions of minutes because the hurt is so much bigger than any hidden truth. 

 

"Hush. Some things are better left unknown." 

 

Because Harry's always been a mystery and Zayn loves that about him. It's the reason he's so deep into this. Harry's been a mystery because Zayn can't see the colour of his eyes or his cheeks when he blushes; Harry's been a mystery because no one knows where his family is or where he came from. Harry's a mystery because he's always running and Zayn is always chasing. Harry's a mystery because he has no destination in mind. Harry's a mystery because when you follow the path he takes, anything could happen. Unexpectedly, suddenly but never unwelcome. Just like these two years. They hit Zayn with such force that he almost lost balance, but at the end of the day he's glad he's had this time away. Distance always opens new doors to knowledge. 

 

Zayn learnt a lot: that Harry's a secret, he's a risk, he's an adventure where the stakes are high and the payoff even higher. Zayn learnt that sometimes, Harry's a mystery to himself too and there's this crippling excitement about learning something together, that makes Zayn not care about any hidden facts or experiences. There's nothing greater than searching for uncharted territories on your lover's body, know more about them than you know about yourself. 

 

Isn't that what the world of love encompasses?

* * *

 


End file.
